Silithiel Ma'for

[Zkenic]

Character - Silithiel Ma'for
Race - Wood elf
Occupation - Mercenary and Blacksmith
Affiliations - Doron Amar

The memories, they float in the back of the mind, immaterial yet eternal. Some seen through a mist, shrouded in times embrace. Other though, they never lose their edge…

-The First Retained-

A female moon elf. A bed that she lays upon. White sheets stained with blood, splatter creating patterns beautiful yet terrifying. Battered, the she-elf shows bruises and cuts across the body. A weak breath escapes her, meager and slowly fading, it barely causing her chest to rise and fall.

Silithiel stands at the side of the woman, one tiny hand clinging to the woman’s two fingers. She is confused, sad for an indescribable reason as she watches the final breaths of the bedded elf fall away into nothingness.

“Papa, papa. Why has mother stopped breathing?”

Fingers still clinging, the little Silithiel turned to look at her father. Dark hair, wild and thin fell just short of his green eyes. Copper skinned hands hold oh so delicately a newborn child. Anger, pain, and joy weaved together in his eyes; silent tears that would fall onto the babe.

“Orcs my sweet little Silithiel.”

Orcs? The bogeymen of the forest. That doesnt make any sort of sense in the child’s mind. There are no orcs here, only her sister and father and mother. All she can do is still ask… why?

[Zkenic]

-A Letter to a Daughter-

Dear my beautiful daughter,

Please make sure the other letter gets to your sister. I do love you both, and I cannot await the day I can hold you both again in my arms like I did when you were a babe. The group of orcs we are hunting have been on the move, and so it appears that I will miss the fall festival, and your 23th birthday. I send my apologies now, even though I know you will not forgive me for being gone so much. Someday however you will see the necessity of my actions, and see why I have done so.

I do hope you are treating your mothers brother well enough. I know you dislike working the forge, but his offer is most kind, and such structure builds character. Besides from what I have heard, you are quite skilled at working the metals. He has been so kind as to watch over you up to this point, and I expect you not to do anything that would disappoint me.

You and your sister mean the most to me, and I lo…

“Highly unlikely,” Silithiel mutters to herself, crushing the letter in her hand and tossing it into the fire, not bothering to read the rest. He is so selfish, understanding nothing. It is not the work uncle provids that she so despises, it is the damned blacksmith himself. He is scum, a beast of dark drink and foul desires, and if she could she would take her sister and run far far away.

Silithiel’s green eyes look to the left, ending on her younger sister. The girl sits on a bench, playing with a small set of rings. Of fifteen years of age, she is finally growing into a woman. Physically at least, for the poor girl still clings to naïve views, content with simple things and lost to many of the subtle workings that go around her. Silithiel pushes back tears, not wishing to show such pain to her delicate little sister. Looking at the second letter in her hand, she opens it.

“Only more orders for Uncle.”

With that, Silithiel takes a deep breath and tosses the note into the fire. She watches the flames consume the paper. Tan turns into black, and then into nothing. All that is left is ash.

[Zkenic]

-Flash of Rage-

Hot Anger. Rage. Eyes that watch can be ignored. The desire to destroy, to break anything surges. Hands that touch are the perfect target. Brittle bone snaps, easy as a twig under a footstep. Thoughts calm to the sound of cracking and crunching, and then to the screams of pain. One more twist, one more tug, one more slam to clear the mind.

As Silithiel looks down to the broken, weeping elf at her feet she feels no remorse or pity. He deserved what she gave him. All she could think though was what now?

-Two Weeks-

Exhausted, Silithiel never the less offers a small smile to her sister. The fire cracks in front of her, red tendrils demanding attention jealously. Eyes turn to the showy flames reaching towards the sky, then down to the wood giving life to the light. Underneath that lay the white hot coals, fallen brothers sacrificed to provide the feeble sense of security that was needed.

Such light is a beacon; for no matter how well she hides it Silithiel can not stop the light from escaping its confines and revealing to the forest two young elves. She absentmindedly rubs her bandaged arm, a wound from last night’s visitor, a foul stirge. She watches fearful and curious now for what might be the visitor tonight.

“If the maps and my memory are anywhere near correct, we should reach the temple tomorrow.”

“Sil, I don’t want to go the temple.”

“I know sis, but it’s the only place safe for you. Once I find father I will be back, I promise.”

Silithiel’s little sister snuggles up close, falling slowly into reverie. Silithiel stays up until all that is left of the majestic fire is weak coals. Water is poured over them, the hissing plea of the fire ignored until there is no chance of ignition. With that Silithiel closes her eyes, and rests as well.

-Wrong Turn-

Two roads. One traveled north deeper into the forest and to father, the other south away from her family, away from it all. Both paths whispered to her. One tells of the promise that should not be broken, of love and action for the family. The other gives promises of freedom. This is not her responsibility. She never wanted any of this. Why should she travel north into danger and more pain, but how could she leave her sister here?

A letter written swiftly travels up a road; a single elf travels down another.